I was awakened at 4:30 and informed that we had to be about a mile away by 5:30 to catch our shuttle to Da Nang. It was the first time since arriving here that I was up before the sun, but not by much. I quickly jumped up and started to pack my things. I had to sift through the clothes on the line in very low light and gather up my belongings. It took about 30 minutes as most of my items were already packed. Quân threw my luggage on his motorbike and headed to the stop. 
He would be transporting all of my and Diem’s belongings, and it would take a few trips. I said my goodbyes and tried as best I could to thank my hosts for an unforgettable experience at their home. Finally, Quân came for me, and I jumped on, and to the makeshift stop we went. We arrived at an almost packed shuttle, so I climbed in the back. There was no room for me to sit. The seats were virtually touching between the rows, and the driver motioned for me to sit in the front as the front passengers climbed out. Diễm sat in the middle between the driver and myself, and I was pleased to have her next to me on the ride out.
The shuttle rolled out of An Lao in the misty darkness, and I was surprised as we headed out of the mountains by how much activity there was in the predawn darkness. The fog was so thick in the early jungle morning that the motorbikes coming towards us in the low light seemed to appear instantly like apparitions, only to quickly disappear behind us in the misty darkness. As we methodically and steadily weaved down the hills out of the countryside, the sun’s light slowly began to brighten the horizon before finally breaking over the misty mountains. The sun seemed to suck in the fog as it quickly began to dissipate away from us and back up into the hills. The foggy, damp morning especially enhanced the jungle feel of the whole scene.
A couple of hours in, we hit the coast head-on, then turned north up Route 1 towards Da Nang. Slowly, the view became a little more populated and a little more urban until we finally reached Da Nang. We got off at the stop, waited for a taxi, and then headed to my new apartment I would call home for the last 6 days of my trip. I would quickly settle into a life of morning coffee houses, cruising the street market for something to cook, bumming on the beach, and usually ending my day at an expat bar with other Westerners having an actual cold beer in a glass and listening to Steve Miller and Bruce Springsteen. 
We would talk about the Asian markets, discussing the unsustainable economic growth in China and how the other emerging markets of Asia would eventually affect the global system. It was strange to have these conversations because I was in a place where these things mattered. I was in the heart of Asia, not far from China, the economic powerhouse of the region. I was closer to Japan and Korea than I was to anything that remotely looked Western. It was an interesting place to be. There were interesting conversations to have. As my time here was drawing to a close, however, home was beginning to call me. As I lounged on the beach, I would peer across the South China Sea. I could almost see the coast of California. I’d imagine Eric and Leefa looking out their window in San Diego, and it was as if we were staring at each other in the distance. I’d fall into these daydream states as I lay on the beach and stared across the beautiful turquoise water of the sea and reflect on my time here. I’d stare out and know that somewhere, way out there over the horizon, some 10,000 miles away, was home.
